


blood sugar sex magic

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:06:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4454114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thin white joint smokes down and down until the bright red cherry is burning their fingertips. The soft wild grass beneath their bodies is flattened as they lay and roll and twist with the gentle pull of the smoke suffusing their limbs until they’re nothing but clouds. Lazy clouds. Floating high high  above the tangle of tree limbs and the complications of landscapes, just an endless horizon for clouds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blood sugar sex magic

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Song prompt for '[Blood Sugar Sex Magic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L5bCMLIA5Fk)' by Red Hot Chili Peppers

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Sam can’t stop giggling. Little hiccup breath caught euphoric giggling sort of giggles. It doesn’t stop. Dean’s kind of worried that he’s just going to stop breathing. Or maybe he’ll take too deep a breath. Maybe he’ll just float away on his happy little giggles and he’ll be gone, gone. 

The smoke swirls between them, lazy tendrils hazy and gray lifting up in to the air. The sun’s just setting and the woods around them are lit up with fireflies. Summer time is a great time. It’s a magic kind of time. It’s easy to live in the summer. In the heat of the sun and the languid pull of it like taffy limbs. The more smoke he soaks in to his lungs the more he feels like his limbs are turning to taffy candy all drip drip soft melting. 

God Sam won’t stop giggling. Thin pink lips and high pink flush on his cheeks, soft brown hair sweaty against his forehead. Nimble fingers twisting around the joint, brushing against Dean’s, caressing his own cheek like it’s the best thing in the world to be touching now and yeah, Dean thinks it would be. It’s so fucking smooth still, even if Sam thinks it’s time to be shaving there ain’t much but fuzz to peel from the peach smooth pink of his face. 

Dean still wants to peel him back. Peel it all back. Like taking the skin off a fruit to devour it’s sweetest best, the tender flesh, the inside inside where it keeps it’s juices beneath the skin. He wants all the inside bits of Sam, he wants to know where the bubble laughs come from, where that magic spark is. 

The thin white joint smokes down and down until the bright red cherry is burning their fingertips. The soft wild grass beneath their bodies is flattened as they lay and roll and twist with the gentle pull of the smoke suffusing their limbs until they’re nothing but clouds. Lazy clouds. Floating high high  above the tangle of tree limbs and the complications of landscapes, just an endless horizon for clouds. That’s what clouds are made for yeah?

Yeah. And his cheeks are so pink, his tongue wet darting out across his lips, finger tips rough brushing against Dean. And Dean knows, cause he’s the big brother and he knows these things, he knows about how good it is to pass the smoke between your lips like the secrets of the universe. It’s amplified. A secret is a secret is all well and good but a secret split between two becomes more for the sum of it’s parts. So he pulls Sam in, when the joint’s near gone because they got to share then, don’t they. He pulls Sam in and breathes the secrets in to his brother’s eager mouth. 

Dean’s pretty sure it’s a virgin’s mouth. Not for certain. But it’s sweet and secret and it makes his skin hum like some kind of magic he doesn’t know yet. He’s gotten a taste, maybe, with cherry soft cheerleaders and the dark hidden hands of boys in closets, he thinks he’s gotten a taste, but none of that ever buzzed under his skin like the warmth of his brother’s mouth and the secrets passed between them. 

So they lay in the grass beneath the stars of falling night as the smoke carries them higher like fragile bird’s wings spreading up from their souls. Crushed flowers beneath boys’ bodies is fragrant as their lips meet, then their hands, then their hips. Skin to skin, bared beneath the summer night sky and carried on the balmy humid air swirling still with smoke, they mingle like the meeting of day and dusk, prismatic light. 

It’s the sweetest kind of magic he’ll ever taste.


End file.
